


Oh, the Pop!Sicle

by Elleh



Series: Office AU [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Slight Oikawa Appearance, there might be a slight plot but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: It starts with an ice-cream.Well, that’s not entirely true. It had started way before the ice-cream, probably somewhere between those damn fancy drinks with straws way too long and that stupid strawberry picking they did next, and who can forget about the eyes-closed, moaning spectacle at dinner last night? Hell, it’s impressive it hasn’t happened before the ice-cream.“Don’t you think Makki’s enjoying that popsicle way too much?”





	Oh, the Pop!Sicle

**Author's Note:**

> i am back with bathroom sex, yey!!! Also, i am posting this already because i have no chill, but technically there's another piece between this one and the last (first?) office au mastuhana i wrote. 
> 
> also this is weird? i feel my other sexy pieces were better but to be fair i haven't written smut in like months so please forgive my rustiness.

It starts with an ice-cream.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It had started way before the ice-cream, probably somewhere between those damn fancy drinks with straws way too long and that stupid strawberry picking they did next, and who can forget about the eyes-closed, moaning spectacle at dinner last night? Hell, it’s impressive it hasn’t happened before the ice-cream.

“Don’t you think Makki’s enjoying that popsicle way too much?”

Issei wants to punch Oikawa for voicing his own thoughts, and then himself because Oikawa breaking the bubble of his fantasy has done nothing for his hard on.

“I mean, it is hot.” Issei stares at Oikawa in disbelief, but Oikawa, who’s enjoying his own ice-cream like a fucking normal person, can’t take his confused gaze away from Hanamaki in his solo play. “But not so much an ice-cream is gonna save your life. Right?”

It takes Issei a second to catch up, and thankfully that helps him disconnect from the low-budget porn show for a second. “Oh, you meant the weather.”

Oikawa’s confused gaze is on him now. “Of course I meant the weather. What else would I be talking about?”

Issei ignores his question. “Shouldn’t we be leaving soon?”

“Nuh, uh. It’s relax time. You should try it, Matsun. You look kind of tense.”

Who the fuck wouldn’t be, with Hanamaki sucking that ice-cream as if it were the most delicious cock. And Matsukawa _knows_ that’s exactly what he looks like when he’s on his knees, because he has been the ice-cream in that damn mouth more times than he can care to count.

But not anymore. Not. Any. More.

 _Get you head out of your cock, you stupid idiot_.

Hanamaki slurps, takes the popsicle out of his mouth and then licks his lips, his swollen and red lips so slow Issei can feel his blood rushing down, down, down.

Goddammit. It’s gonna get awkward if he doesn’t get out of here soon.

“I really think he’s doing it on purpose,” Oikawa continues, as if Issei wanted to keep with this conversation. “It makes you think, right?”

There’s an underlying tone on Oikawa’s casual words, one that sends chills down Issei’s back.

“Think what?”

But Issei knows what. Heck, he’s been thinking about it for about ten minutes now. Hanamaki hasn’t been subtle, he _isn’t_ subtle as a whole, and Issei can’t but wonder how much on the edge he likes to play.

“Nothing, nothing,” the wave of Oikawa’s hand doesn’t dissipate Issei’s concern, but neither his body’s state. “You okay, Matsun? You look hot.”

“Thanks.”

Oikawa snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. Your face is so red I don’t know if you are sunburned or one step from dying.”

Hanamaki puts the whole popsicle into his mouth, rolls his tongue around it and takes it out slowly. There’s blue water running down his chin, and Issei can’t stop thinking about Hanamaki’s lower lip and how it looks exactly as if Issei has spent the last hour devouring him.

“Excuse me. Toilet.”

“Wha– Hey! Matsun, oi!”

The ryoukan is fresh and silent when Issei steps inside, the wood cold and cracking while he rushes through the sliding doors. He’s so overwhelmed by the heat and by that ice-cream and by the fact he hasn’t put his hands on Hanamaki for almost a month he’s not sure he’ll make it to his room.

Wind bells chime while Issei rushes through the empty spaces, crossing rooms and more rooms, a vending machine, the baths. He’s tempted of going in and finishing the job there, a quiet shake of his hand in a closet stall and let himself go back to the hell outside, but somehow he knows that won’t be enough.

He knows this corridor now, that’s Oikawa’s room, that’s Kunimi’s, and the one right after is—

“Hello, Matsukawa.”

—his.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Issei stands as tall as he is, awkward and tense and in pain. The intention of covering his front makes his arms twitch, but Hanamaki’s eyes have been fixed on his crotch since he turned the corner. The damn ice-cream is still in his mouth, although there’s only a small end on the wooden stick. Hanamaki rolls it in his mouth as he smiles, taking in Issei in all his glory.

“You in a rush?”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, oh. We are grumpy, aren’t we.” Hanamaki lifts his eyes, meeting Issei’s for the first time in what feels like ages. Issei’s not sure if they ever made eye contact during this stupid company-bonding trip. “Why would that be?”

“Why the fuck do you think?”

Hanamaki shrugs, picking the stick out of his mouth. “The economy. Capitalism. The porn industry.”

Gods, Issei wishes those damn topics would make his unabashed cock lay low. But Hanamaki is a trickster, and he has been fucking Issei for way too long to not know how to get under his skin.

“You need a hand?”

He’s so close now Issei can smell him, the artificial sweet aroma of the popsicle, his sweat. He should be disgusted, but by the time Hanamaki is a breath away, Issei has to hold his arms at his side to prevent himself from reaching forward and grabbing him.

“Stop this.”

“Stop what?”

He smiles, or sneers, or grins, Issei doesn’t know what it is at this point. His reasoning has somewhat turned into a steamed puddle and it has relocated itself in his lower belly. A single touch right under his navel, and he’ll go off.

“Whatever you’re doing,” he manages, teeth clenched. “I don’t want this.”

“Really?” There’s humor in his eyes when Hanamaki arches his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“ _You did this_ ,” Issei hisses, unable to control himself.

“Yeah, I did. And you want it. And I want it. Win win.”

But it’s not a win win. Issei wants him, that’s undeniable, but he wants other things too. Hanamaki smiles at him, and yet all Issei can see are all those little moments that meant something, that had been shared but erased the morning after. The past and Hanamaki’s need to pretend he’s always in control and that emotions are just a choice and that he knows what’s best, always, always knows what’s best.

“I’m not gonna be your sex toy, Hiro.”

There’s iron in Issei’s voice, and it cools off Hanamaki’s cocky stand. The smile freezes in his lips, twitches, and widens, as if Issei rejecting his advances hadn’t just been the hardest of blows.

He wants to shake him, shit, he wants to grab him and kiss his nonesenses away and then fuck him into the next dimension.

Instead, he says, “You know what I want. I made that crystal clear. Why the fuck can’t you understand?”

Hanamaki frowns, his eyes falling on the ground. “I understand, though. I just— I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying what?” Goddammit, he needs to get into his room and get this dealt with. “Shit, Hiro, I really need you to step away. I can’t—”

“This! Us! I’m trying, okay? I don’t want—” The popsicle stick breaks into his fist. Hanamaki closes his eyes, inhales deeply and opens them again, a sea of hidden monsters. “I heard. And I understand. Now please let me do to you what I’ve been doing to every phallic food I could find this weekend.”

Issei will probably admonish himself for being this easy, but he couldn’t care less when he steps forward and bites Hanamaki’s lower lip, the uncontrolled urge to beat that stupid ice-cream as illogical as it is maddening. Hanamaki melts against him, his body adapting to every curve and every edge of Issei’s. Something clicks, the thunder of Issei’s heart going off in every muscle and every inch of flesh.

He says, “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

Hanamaki moans on his mouth. A part of Issei’s still aware of their surroundings, of the corridor, of the room a sliding door away.

“Let’s get in. Just get _in_.”

“Someone might come,” Hanamaki whispers breathlessly into him, following Issei’s lead into the room. “Who do you share it with again?”

Issei laughs. Hanamaki chases the sound with an open mouth, and Issei needs a long moment before he can answer, “As if you didn’t already know that.”

“He might come back,” Hanamaki takes a step back and his shirt off. Issei is pretty sure his brain is working at such high speed he’s short circuiting, trying to take him in. “And find us. We don’t want that.”

“If you’re telling me you are not planning on having sex after that fucking blowjob you gave to that ice-cream,” Issei musters, eyes fixed on Hanamaki’s obvious hard cock, “I’ll have to murder you.”

His pants are so short, Issei hasn’t noticed until now, and they are tight too. So goddamn tight and low on his hips Issei can see the lack of underwear from where he’s standing.

If he doesn’t get him naked on the next second he’s gonna lose his mind.

“Issei.”

The world stops. Issei stares at him, heart thudding in his ears and his cheeks and his mouth, where the taste still lingers. He’s not sure if his cock is beating together with his heart, of it has developed a tempo of its own.

“Issei,” Hanamaki says again, and it’s two times after a lifetime of waiting for it, so Issei is a bit out of breath when Hanamaki asks, “Can I—”

A rush of heat breaks free from Issei’s chest and into his crotch, and when his mouth fails his cock gives Hanamaki the answer he needs. _Yes, yes, yes!_ , his body screams. Hanamaki approaches, half naked and sweaty and disgusting after a day of working fields and walking around the countryside. Issei can’t take his eyes off of him, of the line of his stomach, of the grin on his lips, of the sinewy and yet insecure rhythm of his steps.

“What if we get caught?” Issei just wants to kiss him, so he shrugs as an answer. “There’s a bathroom in this room,” and it finally catches with him and Issei laughs because of the absurdity of them both.

“You want to fuck me on a bathroom?”

“Yes,” Hanamaki says, going to his toes. Their noses bump, and in his kiss, he musters, “I wanted to at your house, but I didn’t feel like I—”

“I get it,” Issei reassures him when this time words fail Hanamaki. “I get it. And I might have wanted it then, as I do now.”

“You’re so fucking sexy.”

The kiss is rough, built up tension day after day, week after week. Issei’s hands find Hanamaki’s ass and push so hard he takes him off the ground. The way their cocks meet when he does it again has them both panting and groaning low in their throats.

“Bathroom. Now.”

“It makes me so hard when you are bossy to me.” Hanamaki blushes at his own confession and follows Issei into the bathroom. Issei can’t shake the smug smile out of his face. “Shut up and close that stupid door.”

“Who’s being bossy now?”

Hanamaki grabs his cock in punishment, and Issei’s breath is knocked out of his chest. The way his fingers close around his hard cock, the slight height difference, how Hanamaki licks his lips and Issei can see the popsicle spectacle all over again, but now it’s his cock and not a damn ice-cream that’s choking the air out of Hanamaki’s mouth.

“I would have come just watching you eat that ice-cream.”

“I know.”

“Fuck, your mouth—”

“I know,” and the mouth bites into Issei’s neck, the tendon tender and ready. He moans, hips bucking forward, and Hanamaki’s laugh is the softest of caresses when he feels Issei’s reaction. “It was you. Every time I put something in my mouth, I thought of you, and the blowjobs I gave you, and the ones I’m gonna give you. Your dick is such a fit for my mouth, don’t you think?”

“ _Hiro_ ,” Issei whimpers and god, there’s a rush of shame and need covering him now. “Oh god, I really need you to—”

“Oh no. I’m not rushing this. I have been working all weekend for this moment. Don’t spoil it by coming too soon.”

“Goddammit.”

Issei’s pants go off first, and he’s about to complain although he’s not sure why when Hanamaki takes his shoulders and make him turn around. “Kneel.”

“What?”

“Go on your knees facing the bathtub.”

Issei hesitates. A soft push between his shoulder blades, a slap on his ass, and a whispered, _Trust me?_ , and Issei is on his knees, back turned to Hanamaki, hard on brushing the cold tub.

“Now bend over.”

It’s uncomfortable and weird, the way his cock rubs on the tiles and how his arms swing, and his head is way too heavy for this position. “I don’t think—”

“Lean back just a sec.”

Issei does, and before he can even understand what’s happening his shirt is around his head and arms, caging his movements and darkening his view. It’s hot and suffocating, his breathing everywhere; he’s sure if he thinks loud enough his thoughts will echo around him.

“Fuck, look at you.” Hanamaki’s voice is somehow louder as well, Issei picking his tone and raising to savour it. “Open up your legs. Wider.” Like a puppet, Issei obliges, his will erased with a single shirt. “Issei,” there’s reverberation in his name, “I will fuck you so good you won’t ever forget.”

“ _Please_.”

“Please what?”

But before Issei can answer something wet touches his asscheck. There’s barely no time between Issei understanding it’s a mouth and a tongue drawing his ass shape and the first bite.

Issei gasps, knocking his elbows with the tub. There’s a moment of silence and then a second bite, a harder one. Issei moans so loud he’s sure he won’t be hearing anything else for a while. Hanamaki’s hands grab him, pushing his ass open, closed, learning the way his body adapts to his grip. Issei’s lungs are overworking themselves, his knees hurt, and his head is getting filled with blood and darkness although he could have sworn all his blood was in his cock by how stiff it is.

“Hiro.” A warning.

“I dreamt of this.”

Issei doesn’t dare ask what is _this_.

He shakes when Hanamaki’s forehead falls on his lower back, his nose caressing the valley where his ass begins. Issei’s mind is spinning too fast to process what Hanamaki’s about to do, and when he hears, “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Issei can just whine low in his throat.

He has never done this, before. Maybe that’s why he’s so startled and unabashed when the first flicker of tongue licks his ass, teasing him to acception. Issei’s body doesn’t know if it should go back or forwards, and by the time it figures it out, Issei has just found a rhythm and Hanamaki’s tongue is fucking him in sync.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, Hiro, Hiro, I’m gonna—”

A hand closes around his cock. Issei groans, and Hanamaki pants on his ass. “Don’t you dare.”

Issei has no strength to argue. Instead he lets his body become another extension of the bathroom, a willess toy at the hands of Hanamaki’s skilled tongue. The protection of his shirt starts to work its magic soon enough, making Issei overly aware of every little thing Hanamaki’s doing to him. His asschecks, pushed apart and massaged in lazy squeezes; Hanamaki’s tongue, god, the way it licks a straight path from his balls to his ass, how it circles it, and pushes in, tentatively. The way Hanamaki hums on him, and Issei feels it everywhere, because he’s not allowed to feel anything else. The way his body sings with the intrusion, his swollen cock leacking on his naked knees. It’s unimaginable he hasn’t cum yet, but Hanamaki’s grip tightens and eases every time Issei is close.

The sounds are the worst. Issei is filled with them too, his own moans and desperate pleas and nonsensical words that only a man in absolute need would produce. His own sounds turn him on almost as much as Hanamaki fucking him on the shadows.

“You okay?”

“Oh god.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Hiro.”

A last lick, a last bite, and the sounds of Hanamaki standing up fill the room. Issei’s pretty sure he has just ascended into some realm in which instatisfaction and pure raw sexual frustration are everyday’s meal. He wants to die, and he wants to die with Hanamaki’s cock inside of him.

“Give me a sec.”

“ _Hiro_.”

Issei moans so loud he shakes when a cold finger pushes into him. He’s so sensitive, the tender skin of his ass so needy. He’d fingered himself just once out of curiosity and it had been an amazingly awful experience. He’d been nervous and curious and fuck, since Hanamaki blows off every time he had Issei’s cock in him, he’d thought it be… better.

It’s not better now, but it is different. Hanamaki pushes in a bit more, his thumb rubbing on his entrance, trying to ease his way in. Issei muffles a cry, somewhere between pain and pleasure, and for the first time closes his eyes.

“Issei, Issei, you hear me?” Issei nods, and then remembers Hanamaki can’t see his head. Instead, he pushes his hips around, as if shaking them. “Have you ever done this? Have you ever wanted me to do this to you?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Issei words, and the finger is totally in him, still. “Shit, Hiro, do something.”

“You like it?”

“I don’t know, just— make it likeable.”

His ass clenches around the finger, his cock still hard but lost in its throbbing. Issei wants this, he wants _him_ and this and this weird fucking position to become history, but the finger is just _there_ and it’s not good and—

Hanamaki kisses Issei’s back, the curve of his waist. It’s so light he thinks he’s imagined it up, but another kiss falls, and then another and another, drawing a path up Issei’s spine. When Hanamaki makes it to his nape, Issei is shivering.

He has never been one to pay much attention to his nape, but when Hanamaki throws all his will into it, he promises himself to never allow that to happen again.

There’s care in the kisses, coded words in the way Hanamaki makes his tongue travel through his skin. “Issei,” he whispers right under his ear, and Issei rolls his hips and bites his lip. “I wanna kiss you.”

“You’re the one,” Issei pants, trying to take the broken rawness of his voice away, “who put me in this position.”

“Yeah, I know. But I still wanna kiss you. Everywhere,” Hanamaki’s voice is so close and so warm and so promising; Issei is swimming in it, and he barely notices how the finger in his ass recedes slowly and goes back inside, a soft thrust. Issei groans, and Hanamaki bites the tender skin of his ear. “Your neck, and the hollow of your chest, and your nipples. Do you like nipple play? I never got around to ask, or do it to you. But I will. And lower, too, around your navel, and hips. Your hip bones are amazing. God, the way they look when you’re drilling in me makes me shudder,” a second finger starts to prod, searching entrance, and Issei can’t but open himself. Hanamaki’s a little breathless when he follows, “And your cock. I love sucking your cock, you know. How its head fits on my mouth, how hot and silky it is when it’s in my throat, god yes.” A stroke on his cock, standing in full attention, and Issei has no problem remembering every single blowjob Hanamaki has ever given him. He whines, low, and Hanamaki licks his ear and bites his lobe. “If there were only a single position I could ever take, it be on my knees right before you and _this_ ,” a hard stroke on his cock, Issei jumps back and fucks the two fingers. It’s not weird anymore, “this would be in my mouth all the time.” A third finger, somehow, finds its way into Issei and Issei is dead or halfway there, so horny and so hot he’s one second from blowing up. Sounds that are low and rumbling fill his shirt and ears, together with Hanamaki’s gasps.

“Oh, shit, Issei. I need to fuck you now.”

“Yes, _yes_.”

The fingers disappear, Hanamaki’s voice disappear. Issei is left panting and whining, bent over the tub, the nerves on his nape and his back and his ass, all of them on fire. “Hiro,” he pleas.

The first touch of Hanamaki’s cock almost takes Issei over the edge of the tub. His toes curl and push and his knees leave the floor and his ass looks for more friction, another flicker of Hanamaki’s cock in his ass. Issei moans when he finds it, and Hanamaki groans when his cock rubs on the hollow of Issei’s ass, its head going from his balls up to his back.

“Put it in.”

“Shit, you want this so much,” there’s awe in that statement.

“Put. It. _In_ ,” Issei growls or whimpers or just words. There’s a fever running down his temples and into his chest, surrounding his cock. If only his arms weren’t caged on the shirt he could grab himself and stroke himself to orgasm.

But he can’t, so Issei’s hips look for Hanamaki’s cock again, and this time its head hits directly where he’s clenching, empty and needy. Hanamaki’s hands find his hips, leveling him up, and before Issei can order him again, his cock is pressing in, passing the ring of nerves, fucking him slowly.

Hanamaki pulls back, and Issei growls. And then he pushes back in, halfway, and pulls back again, and Issei’s legs are trembling and his muscles are twitching and his cock is so wet with precum it’s almost as if he’s come already.

“The way you look,” Hanamaki says in a haze and thrust into Issei all the way to the hilt.

Issei splits and breaks in half, his back so arched his chest stops touching the tub for a second. His mouth is open in a silent cry and he’s full to the core. He’s still caught in the shirt, but through the fabric he senses Hanamaki’s face, his lips on his cheek. “You feel so good,” he moans, and Issei pushes his hips back in answer, a silent order.

Hanamaki follows it through oh, so well. He thrusts in hard, so hard Issei’s lungs stop functioning, and then takes a pace of slow out, even slower in, swirls of his hips that are all unfulfilled promises.

“Harder, harder, _harder_.”

“You’re so tight.”

“ _Harder!_ ”

Hanamaki does it harder, drilling into Issei as if it were the only thing that matters, doing it harder and rougher and pushing Isse back so his head is now on the tub and his back is arched, and then grabbing his chest and pulling him back till Issei’s head finds Takahiro’s shoulder, and the shirt folds around his neck and there’s light, and his cock’s throbbing incessantly and there’s the broken rhythm of Takahiro’s thrusts.

“Fuck, fuck, Hiro, fuck.”

Issei turns his head and tries to grab Takahiro’s mouth, gasping in his skin, pleading for mercy and relief. His tongue flickers out of his mouth, wetting his lips, tasting the salt of Takahiro’s skin, and finally Takahiro takes the hint and turns, and the kiss is as open mouthed as it is synced to their bodies. Issei wants to grab his cock, now jumping and clashing against his belly with every thrust and every swirl of hips. The sounds of wet flesh clashing, moans and gasps and Issei saying, _harder, harder, oh, fuck me harder, Hiro, right there, right there, fuck!_ echo, and fill their chests and their blood.

Issei whimpers, “Hiro, I’m gonna—”

And Takahiro moans, “Issei, shit, you feel so—˝

Issei comes when Takahiro grabs his cock and strokes it three times, no less, and he arches his back and grabs Takahiro by the hair and pulls from him, hips stuttering but still going up and down Takahiro’s hot cock, so hard he’s not sure he wants it to be over just yet.

Takahiro takes the lead when Issei loses himself in the orgasm. He grabs his hips, bites his shoulder, strokes his overly sensitive cock until Issei is half moaning pleasure half crying pain. Still, while Takahiro finds his end, Issei follows suit, fucking himself into his cock, enjoying the bite of nails and the uncontrolled sounds till Takahiro is coming and coming and coming, shuddering and gasping against Issei’s back.

There are spams still going through his body when Takahiro stops completely. Issei rests his head against Takahiro’s, satiated and dead and so happy one would believe he’s in a cloud and not on a bathroom’s floor.

“That was amazing.”

Issei makes a noncommittal sound, unable to say anything else.

“We should have been switching from the very beginning.”

Do they have to talk about this now? Issei only wants to crawl into the room and sleep for at least ten hours. He brushes his nose under Takahiro’s ear, and hums happily.

There’s glee in Takahiro’s voice when he says, “Content, much?”

“Can we just wash out and sleep?”

“I don’t know if I should be offended,” and although it is said slightly, there’s a rough edge to his words. Issei idly opens his eyes, and licks his cheek just to piss him off. “Ugh, don’t lick me. That’s gross.”

“You just put your tongue in my ass. _That’s_ gross.”

“It was sex,” he says, insulted. “It’s not gross when it’s sex.”

“Your logic never ceases to amaze me.” Issei lets his eyes close again, nudging his nose on Takahiro’s neck.

“Oi, don’t sleep. We need to discuss your lack of proper modals.”

“Later.”

“Issei.”

“Mmhh?”

A beat of silence. Issei’s laziness is gone by the time Takahiro answers his gaze.

“Are we okay?”

“I am. Are you?”

There’s cold reticence in his voice when he answers, “You know what I mean,” and yet his arms circle Issei’s body and hug him as warmly as one can.

“Yeah, I know.” Issei kisses his jaw, just ‘cause he can. Takahiro frowns, but a slight pleased blush covers his cheeks. “And I _am_. Are _you_?”

He still won’t answer his gaze, but his embrace tightens. “I think so. I just— I’ll probably mess this up.”

“Probably.” Issei agreeing with him doesn’t ease his worries, but neither would deny them. “Come on, let’s wash and sleep. You owe me for two of the worst nights of my life.”

Takahiro’s smiling, wide and broad, by the time they lay on the tatami and fall asleep, hands tangled.

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO ALSO ALSO, there should totally be onseen iwaoi sex as a follow up of this don't you think? ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪
> 
>  
> 
> (you can find me [here](http://negare-boshi.tumblr.com))


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